EPISODE FORTY-FOUR
Seeing the fear on Mary’s face,
Dave let go of her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he
said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
Now
that his anger had drained away, she saw the wounded look in his eyes and she
felt sorry for him.
‘It’s
my fault. I shouldn’t have...’
‘You
were curious. Can’t say as I blame
you. In your shoes, I’d probably have
done the same thing.’
He
walked over to the window and drew the curtains.
Daylight flooded into the room and Mary
blinked, trying to take in what she was seeing.
‘It’s
some sort of shrine,’ she said slowly.
‘To her.’
Dozens
of framed photographs covered the walls; they were all of the same woman,
mostly glamorous ten-by-eights. On a
table, carefully arranged, lay toiletries and make-up, covered in a thin layer
of dust. In front of the table, silk
dressing gown neatly draped the back of a bentwood chair.
A bundle of scrap books and photograph albums
were stacked in a tidy pile beside the table.
But the dominating feature of the room stood in a corner to the left of
the door – a sequined dress, in shimmering silver and blue adorned a
dressmaker’s dummy, crowned by a wig block with an auburn wig beneath a large
floppy hat.
Mary
stared at the faceless wig block and shivered, letting her breath out
slowly. My God!
This is so weird.
It’s like that film with...um...Anthony
Hopkins. You know...’
Dave
smiled thinly. ‘I think you mean Anthony
Perkins In
Psycho. Unless you mean
Silence of the Lambs.
But I hope I’m harmless, even if I am a bit
round the twist.’
Mary
felt the tight knot in her stomach relax.
She smiled at him, then peered carefully at one of the framed
photographs.
‘She
really beautiful, Dave. She must have
been really special.’
‘Oh,
she was special all right!’
Mary
continued to stare at the photograph, missing the irony of his tone.
‘I
couldn’t hope to compete with her. Look
at those breasts. So perfect. They’ve
just got to be silicone implants.’
Dave
laughed gratingly. ‘Or hormone
treatment.’
Mary
stared at him, her eyes narrowing shrewdly as she began to suspect the truth.
‘You’d
never guess the truth, Mary. Not in a
million years. Oh well – I guess it’s
confession time.’
He
crossed to the pile of albums and selected a scrap book.
He turned over a page as Mary peered over his
shoulder. A newspaper cutting caught her
eye.
‘I
knew it! She’s a man! She’s had a sex
change!’
Mary
read from the cutting. Yorkshire
born civil servant Marilyn Whitby, previously known as John Whitby...’
Dave
sank into the chair with a sigh. Mary
bit her lip quickly as she tried to work it out.
‘John
Whitby. But that means he’s
your...brother?’
Dave
picked up a mascara stick and fiddled with it.
Apart from a buzzing in his ears, everything seemed deathly quiet.
Unreal.
Mary
waited for him to speak.
‘I
never really knew me dad. He left us
when I were a nipper. Can’t have been
more than two – two and a half, maybe.
When I was older, I asked me mam about him, but all she’d say was that
he’d gone away to another country. And she’d no idea where.
So that seemed to be that.
‘Then,
when I were about eleven – just about to start secondary school – Dad came
home. Only I didn’t know it were me
dad. He’d changed, you see.
Completely.’
Mary
could feel her heart beating against her ribs.
‘My God, Dave! This woman is your
father.’
‘And
Mam never told me. Not till after he
died. It took me a long time to get used
to calling him “Dad” after that. I’d
always known him as Aunty Marilyn, this mysterious, glamorous, long-lost
relation who came to stay with us.’
‘But...why
didn’t your mother tell you?’
‘I
don’t know. How do you explain to a kid
in his formative years that his old man’s changed into a ravishing redheaded
woman that most of your schoolmates fancy?’
Quietly,
Mary replaced the scrap book on top of the pile.
There was something she needed to ask
Dave. She had already made up her mind
that she would become his lover, but now there was something she had to
know. She stood close behind him, both
hands massaging his shoulders.
‘Did
you used to fancy your Aunty Marilyn?’
He
nodded slightly. ‘She used to sit me on
her lap, cuddle me, and tuck me in at night.
I used to get turned on. Though I
never let it show. But as soon as the
lights were out...’
‘It’s
not your fault, Dave. You weren’t to
know.’
‘There
I’d be, hoping one night me Aunty Marilyn would climb into bed with me;
enjoying every schoolboy’s fantasy of being seduced by an attractive older
woman. And all along it’s me dad.
No wonder I became a comedian.
With an upbringing like that, what else could
I be?’
Mary
leant forward and gently kissed the side of his head.
‘Try not to worry about it.
You’ve got me to look after you now.’
Dave
stood up and turned towards her, smiling.
‘Come here, gorgeous. Let me kiss
you.’
He
pulled her towards him and she let him kiss her briefly.
Then she pulled away, and said, ‘Dave, just a
minute. I want to hear the rest of it.’
‘I’ll
tell you later. Right now...why don’t we
consummate our relationship?’
Mary
glanced at one of the photographs. ‘This
is seriously weird. She still turns you
on, doesn’t she?’
‘Does
it bother you?’
Mary
giggled and pressed herself closer to him.
‘This is the best sort of therapy I can think of for now.’
IN EPISODE FORTY-FIVE
Savita and Nicky confront Malcolm and
Dave has an unwelcome intrusion into his new love life.